


Uninhibited

by Banshee1013



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, Light Angst, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Season/Series 15, Witch Curses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:02:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29600769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Banshee1013/pseuds/Banshee1013
Summary: On what appeared to be a routine hunt, Dean gets zapped by a witch's curse - and suddenly he has no qualms expressing his undying love for Castiel. It's everything Castiel has hoped for and never thought he would have. When Sam discovers the counterspell, reversing the curse seems like a no-brainer - but will it cause Castiel to lose the love he never thought he would have?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 13
Kudos: 127
Collections: Profound Bond Gift Exchange: Reunion





	Uninhibited

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AnnetheCatDetective](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnetheCatDetective/gifts).



> Written for the [Profound Bond Discord Server](http://discord.profoundbond.net/) Valentines Day Exchange and my giftee, [catdetective](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnetheCatDetective)! I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Many thanks to my betas, [strzyga](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strzyga), hoefortheusps, and abnormal_ace!

“Dean!”

Castiel runs and skids to a halt, falling to his knees in front of the prone form of his friend. Pressing two fingers to his forehead, he breathes a sigh of relief. Still alive.

His attention turns to the fleeing form of the witch. Raising a hand, he wills his Grace into it and clinches it into a fist. The witch freezes mid-stride, twisting against an invisible force holding him in place. With a jerk of his arm, Castiel propels the witch around and pins him against the nearest wall.

“What have you done to him?” 

The witch laughs. “I’ve given him a great gift. You’ll see.” He flicks his wrist, a bolt of purple flying out and striking Castiel. It doesn’t hurt him but distracts him enough to loosen his grip, and the witch disappears.

Castiel utters a string of Enochian curses that would make Lucifer himself flinch. Nothing for it, and he has more important concerns at the moment, his attention returning to the unconscious hunter.

 _Even unconscious, he’s beautiful_ , Cas thinks with a pang in his chest, _maybe even more so, the usual lines of care and strife stripped from his face_. Castiel places a palm on his forehead and exerts a sliver of Grace, but it bounces back against his hand, as though hitting an impenetrable barrier. 

But it must have done _something_ , as Dean’s eyes begin to flutter open, his breath gasping as he regains consciousness. Seconds later, Castiel is hit by the full force of those green eyes as they meet his own, hazy and dull at first but sharpening quickly with recognition. 

“Cas?” Dean rises and reaches for him, Castiel grasping his shoulder to help steady him. “Sweetheart, are you okay?” 

Castiel blinks. Of all the names Dean has called him over the years they’ve known each other, this one had never been directed toward him. He dismisses it as an aftereffect of just having regained consciousness. “Yes, I’m fine. How are you feeling?”

Dean heaves a visible sigh of relief — then suddenly there’s a hand behind his neck and Dean’s lips are pressed against his. The shock of the contact is quickly overcome by a growing heat beneath his skin, an involuntary moan escaping around their fused lips.

After a measure of time that Castiel cannot name, Dean pulls back and presses his forehead against his own. “Feeling _much_ better now,” he says softly, his breath ghosting against Castiel’s lips and sending a shiver down his spine. 

It’s everything Castiel has ever wanted and knew he would never have, and he desperately wants to relish the sudden reality of his desires coming to life before him, but the relevance of the witch’s last words rings in his ears. Castiel takes a deep breath and pulls back to catch Dean’s eyes. “Dean, tell me… what’s the last thing you remember?”

Dean frowns, his brows pinching together. “Uh… well, we followed the witch to this house. We’d split up to clear the rooms and…” He stops, eyes narrowing angrily as realization dawns. “Did that sonuvabitch get the drop on me?” 

Castiel nods somberly. “Yes. I heard a shout but by the time I found you, you were already unconscious. I was able to pin the witch briefly but they escaped.” He sighs and looks down, unable to meet Dean’s eyes in light of his failure. “Unfortunately, I do not know what spell or curse was laid upon you. I attempted to heal you, but somehow I am being blocked from doing so.” 

He is once again shocked when Dean places light fingers under his chin and lifts to look into his eyes. “Hey, it’s alright. Let’s go home and talk to Sam. We’ll figure it out.” Castiel’s breath stutters to a halt as Dean’s hand slides to his jaw, his thumb brushing his cheekbone before leaning in to kiss him again. 

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” Dean says after he pulls back again, barely audible over the buzz in Castiel’s ears, then rises and offers a hand down to Castiel, pulling him to his feet.

“C’mon, babe. Let’s get outta here,” he says, smiling and squeezing Castiel’s hand, then guiding them to the door and out to the waiting Impala. Castiel glances down at their joined hands and wonders what he’s going to do now. 

* * *

“Sam! We’re back!” Dean announces loudly as he enters the bunker. “Who’s gonna bring me a beer?”

“Get it yourself!” Sam’s voice echoes from behind the stacks in the Library. Castiel wonders if he’s examining the books there, looking for an answer to the nature of the curse the witch placed upon Dean; Castiel having texted him about it as soon as they were on the road again.

Dean grumbles but there’s no real heat in it. He pauses in the Library and turns to Castiel, his hand raising to grasp his upper arm. “Want anything while I’m in there, sweetheart?” 

Castiel, his throat dry and voice gone, shakes his head. Dean nods and smiles, his hand trailing down Castiel’s arm to his hand to give it a squeeze before pivoting on his heel and heading toward the kitchen. 

As soon as he rounds the corner and is out of sight, Sam’s head pops from behind one of the stacks, his eyes wide. “Wow, you weren’t kidding.” 

Castiel could only nod in agreement.

“So, what happened? Tell me everything,” Sam asks as he moves to sit at one of the tables in the Library, leaning forward and clasping his hands in front of him. Castiel takes the seat across from him and recounts the events from earlier in hushed tones to prevent Dean from overhearing.

Not that it was an issue; Dean shouts from the kitchen that he’s starving and going to make burgers and did they want any. Sam looks to Castiel, questioning; he nods and Sam yells back in affirmation before turning back, gaze unfocused over Castiel’s shoulder and forehead furrowed in thought.

“Purple light,” Sam muses. “Last time I saw that was Rowena using magic from Book of the Damned.” The unfocused gaze sharpens and focuses back on Castiel. “But you said the witch was male, right?” Castiel nods, and Sam’s lips purse. “I have no idea what happened to the Book — it wasn’t among her magic journals and items we took from her apartment.” He sighs. “I hope it hasn’t been recovered and used by whoever this was,” he continues, “but I’ll do some digging on that assumption anyway.” Castiel nods again, but his inner turmoil must be written on his face as Sam’s eyebrows raise in question.

“Cas… is there... something else?”

Castiel looks down at his clenched hands, noticing he’s been subconsciously wringing them. “I...I’m not sure what to do about his advances.”

Sam’s expression grows serious. “Has he been making you uncomfortable? How bad has he been? He hasn’t… propositioned you or anything, has he?” Sam pauses to swallow uncomfortably. “Or worse?”

“All he’s done so far has been pet names and kisses. And no, he hasn’t been making me uncomfortable.” Castiel takes a deep breath and squirms a little in the chair. This is not a conversation he ever expected to have with Dean’s brother, and he’s quite unsure how to broach it tactfully. “Quite the opposite, in fact.” 

Sam’s expression is puzzled at first, eyebrows pinched in confusion — then Cas witnesses the metaphorical light bulb illuminating as his eyes grow wide. “Oh… OH!” His mouth spreads into a wide grin. “Well then, I guess this is your lucky day!” 

Castiel feels the heat of a blush flashing across the back of his neck and across his face, his embarrassment warring with a sense of outrage. “Sam, no!” he hisses. “Dean is not expressing affection of his own volition. He’s been compelled!” Castiel drops his gaze to his hands, surprised to find them clenching again. “It wouldn’t be right to take advantage of his condition, regardless of my feelings for him.” 

A snort from the other side of the table has Castiel glancing up from his hands to see a smirk on Sam’s face. “Believe me, Cas — those feelings are _real_.” The smirk dissolves as his jaw drops. “I wonder…” 

His musings are interrupted by Dean breezing into the library, a plate in each hand. He sets the plate with a single burger in front of Sam, then swings around the table to sit next to Castiel, sliding the second plate with two burgers in front of himself. He leans over to drop a kiss against Castiel’s cheek as he grabs a burger off the plate. “Dig in, babe,” he murmurs, his warm breath brushing over the shell of his ear causing an involuntary shiver to rattle down Castiel’s spine. 

Dean leans back and winks at him, grinning as he takes a big bite of his burger; and Castiel’s blush burns across his skin again. He grabs the remaining burger and takes a big bite in a vain attempt to distract himself from Dean’s uncharacteristically forward behavior. 

God help him, he’s enjoying this new flirty, attentive Dean.

“So, what were you guys talking about?” Dean asks between bites, and Castiel almost chokes on his mouthful. Sam covers wonderfully, though. 

“Just discussing the case,” he says. “Cas told me you took a hit. How’re you feeling?”

Dean’s grin widens. “Feelin’ pretty great, actually,” he says as he drops another wink at Castiel. “Cas says I was unconscious when he found me but I really feel fine now.”

Sam leans back in his chair and puts on an air of nonchalance. “So you don’t… _feel_ any different? Anything strike you as being different at all?” He glances up at the ceiling. “Like, oh, I dunno, how you feel about Cas?” 

Castiel’s head whips from where he’d been staring at Dean to gauge his reactions to Sam’s questions to Sam himself, panic at his directness crawling up his throat and causing his heart to play hopscotch in his chest. Sam has the audacity to _wink_ at him, but then he startles and whips back around when he feels Dean’s hand take his own, his eyes widening as Dean raises it to his lips and looks directly into his eyes.

“Nope, I’m still totally hung up on this guy,” he says softly, lowering his hand and giving it a squeeze, then raising his free hand to stifle a yawn. “But I _am_ pretty worn out.” He stands, pulling Castiel to his feet and wrapping an arm around him, holding him close; Castiel’s heart feels like it’s going to beat its way right out of his chest wall. “Think I’ll turn in. Can you handle the dishes, Sammy?” he asks, nuzzling Castiel’s hair and humming in contentment.

Sam, the terrible person he’s suddenly become, nods gleefully. “You bet! You lovebirds should hit the sack.” He stands, gathers the dishes, and heads to the kitchen, throwing yet another wink over his shoulder as he turns the corner into the hallway leading to the kitchen.

Dean finally pulls away from him and turns, leading Castiel towards the living areas — and presumably, Dean’s room. Castiel feels panic creeping up as they walk down the steps into the war room. He knows he should stop this — tell Dean the truth, that the witch’s spell is compelling these feelings from him. But he finds he is unable — or rather, increasingly unwilling — to say anything, and the guilt gnaws at him.

But — this is everything he’s ever wanted and never thought he could have. And Dean is the happiest Castiel has ever seen him. Should he really deny Dean — or himself — this happiness? 

Haven’t they both suffered enough? Sacrificed enough?

The witch _did_ say he had given Dean a great gift. Who was he to look this gift horse in the mouth?

But as they reach Dean’s door, the guilt forces him to at least say _something_.

“Dean.” Castiel pulls him to a halt and he turns to face him; Dean’s eyes, drooping with weariness, suddenly soften as he reaches a hand behind Castiel’s neck to pull their foreheads together, and closes his eyes.

“So, I know we haven’t really… y’know, _slept together_ yet,” Dean says, his voice hesitant, uncertain, “and I know you don’t really _sleep_ , but…” Then those green eyes open and meet Castiel’s, thumb stroking his cheekbone and taking his breath away again. “Could you… just stay with me? At least until I fall asleep?”

Just being with him, laying beside him, even if just to watch him sleep. It’s more than he’s ever had and ever thought he could. _That wouldn’t be a violation_ , Castiel reasons, and nods.

“Of course, Dean.” 

* * *

A thin stream of daylight streaks through the skylight over Dean’s bed and strikes his head, the red and gold highlights in his hair sparkling in the light. Castiel can’t help himself, reaching toward the pillow next to him to gently run his fingers through it — not enough to wake him but just to watch the light dance — and wonders if sleep had broken the spell. 

While Dean had only asked for Castiel to stay until he fell asleep, as soon as he’d laid nervously beside him — having stripped down to his boxers after Dean expressed confusion when he lay down on the bed fully clothed — Dean had turned into some form of human octopus, legs and arms curling around him and pulling him close, head on Castiel’s shoulder and nose buried in the crook of his neck. Dean was asleep moments later, Castiel reasoning that he must have been very tired indeed to have managed to do so over the jackhammer of Castiel’s heart. 

So all through the night, he lay there, Dean’s warmth pressed against his body, his soft snores against his neck, and he argued with himself. 

_The spell is causing him to act like this — Dean would never want this,_ one voice in his head reasoned, while another argued, _but Sam did not seem concerned — why?_ That was indeed a good question, and one he would need to address as soon as he could extricate himself without waking Dean. 

But when Dean finally rolled over, releasing him… Castiel found it impossible to leave him. The thought of Dean waking up without him there — would he be sad? Disappointed? The spell might exacerbate his fear of abandonment… perhaps even give him nightmares. No, he couldn’t do that to him, not in his current condition. 

Or so the voice in his head reasoned, the other voice moving down and settling uncomfortably in his stomach. He didn’t get up and seek out Sam — instead, he rolled over and curled against Dean’s back, pulling him close, and Dean sighed contentedly in his sleep and snuggled back against him. 

_If this is so wrong… why does it feel so RIGHT?_

But of course, the feeling in his gut wouldn’t let him alone. Would Dean wake up and wonder what Castiel was doing in his bed? Would he be angry? Or worse, disgusted? 

Castiel freezes as Dean’s eyes flicker open, the sunlight striking them and turning them verdant. His lips stretch into a soft, sleepy smile. 

“Hey, good morning sunshine.” 

Castiel releases the breath he’d been holding as Dean rises up on an elbow and leans to press that smile against his lips. The kiss was chaste but oh so sweet, and Dean sighs contentedly as he lays back down and stretches, the sunlight playing across his bare skin turning Castiel’s mouth dry. 

He swallows and manages to croak out, “Good morning, Dean.” The lingering guilt bubbles up and he asks, “How are you feeling?” 

“Like a million bucks.” Dean glances back over, his eyes wide. “Did you stay all night?” Castiel nods, timidly, worried over Dean’s reaction to the admission, but Dean’s eyes go soft. “I’m sorry, that must have been boring as hell.” 

“No, it was very enjoyable,” Castiel blurts out and only an act of extreme control prevents him from slapping a hand to his mouth, but it is rewarded by a bright smile from Dean. 

“Was it, now?” he teases, eyebrows waggling. “Do I have to worry about my chastity?” 

Castiel feels the hot flush darken his skin and Dean must see it as well, bursting into laughter and pulling Castiel against him. “Just teasing, sweetheart,” he says, but with a wicked grin, he whispers into Castiel’s ear, “but for future reference, I’m down with somnophilia if you are.” 

Castiel wonders if blood remains in any other part of his body, as it feels as though every drop has rushed to his face, and Dean laughs once more before kissing him again — not quite so chaste this time and leaving Castiel breathless when he pulls back, brushing his fingers through Castiel’s hair before settling on his jaw, thumb stroking his cheek.

“C’mon, sunshine, time to get up. I’m starving and in desperate need of coffee.” 

Castiel nods dumbly, and with a final peck on Castiel’s lips, Dean rolls out of bed, pulling on sweatpants and a t-shirt. After a moment to collect himself, Castiel follows suit, redressing in his suit and tie before pulling the trench coat back on, a feeling of resolve settling over him as he does so. He _must_ talk to Sam as soon as he’s up today. 

He turns to find Dean looking him over and sighing. “One of these days, I’m gonna get you to wear something else — even if it’s just here in the bunker.” The wicked grin returns as he comes closer, his fingers settling around Castiel’s tie and using it to pull him near. “Although the tie _does_ have its uses,” he says softly before pressing another kiss to his lips, the tip of his tongue sliding along the seam.

Castiel’s resolve slips and with a soft sigh, his lips part for Dean’s tongue. Dean groans against his lips, his hand sliding from the tie to Castiel’s jaw, tilting his head and kissing him harder; then Castiel is being pushed backward and up against the wall, Dean’s hand moving behind his head to protect it while the other grasps his waist to pull him in tighter. The unmistakable hard line of his erection presses against Castiel and he gasps against Dean’s mouth. Dean hums and breaks the kiss, lipping down to Castiel’s neck and rolling his hips, eliciting another gasp. 

Castiel pulls the final vestiges of his resolve together, managing to get his hands to Dean’s chest and weakly pushing him back. “Dean,” he pants, “we have to stop.” 

The hurt look on Dean’s face is almost enough for his resolve to slip again, but Castiel holds on to it desperately, like a drowning man grasping a floating bit of wreckage. “Please… I have to talk to Sam.” 

Dean’s face darkens. “Sam? It’s not like you have to ask his _permission_ , Cas.” He steps back, arms crossed. “We’re both adults and it’s a free country. We can do what we want.”

Castiel sighs. “It’s not that, Dean.” He casts his eyes down so he doesn’t have to see the disappointment on Dean’s face. “It’s about the case yesterday.” Dean opens his mouth to protest and Castiel cuts him off. “Please, Dean. Just let me talk to Sam first.” 

“Fine.” Castiel glances back up as Dean pivots on a heel and heads for the door. “Do what you gotta do. I need coffee.” He storms out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the hall as he heads for the kitchen.

Castiel leans back against the wall, closing his eyes and taking several deep breaths to collect himself. Finally, he pushes away from the wall and goes in search of Sam. 

* * *

He doesn’t have to go far as Sam almost runs him over in the hallway, walking briskly from the direction of the Library. “Cas! What happened?” He grasps Castiel’s arm, eyebrows pinched in concern. “Dean just came stomping through the library on the way to the kitchen.” 

“He, um…” Castiel searches for the words to explain that would invoke the least amount of embarrassment for them both. “He was very… amorous and I asked him to stop so I could talk to you before… well, anything untoward could happen.” 

Sam at least has the decency to look startled before bursting into a gale of laughter, and Castiel bitterly wonders if Sam’s soul really _was_ returned intact. “Oh! Well, that’s better than what I _thought_ had happened!” His laughter dies down to a chuckle but his eyes are still dancing merrily as he clasps a giant palm onto Castiel’s shoulder. “I thought maybe the spell had worn off and he lost his shit when he woke up to find you in bed with him!” 

Castiel’s ire diminishes and he nods. “That was my concern as well, but the exact opposite occurred.” His statement sends Sam into another round of chuckles, his hand dropping from Castiel’s shoulder as he bends over in his mirth, and Castiel sighs. “Sam, please. Can we focus on the issue now?”

Sobering, Sam straightens and nods, laughter still in his eyes but mercifully not on his lips. Clasping an arm around Castiel’s shoulder, Sam guides him back down the hallway to the Library. 

“I’ve actually been up for a while doing some research and I think I’ve discovered what the witch did to Dean,” Sam says as they cross the War Room and into the library. The table where they had been sitting the night before was now strewn with books. He releases Castiel’s shoulder and picks up a nearby notepad, covered with Sam’s neat script. “I think it’s an uninhibiting spell.”

Castiel tilts his head in confusion. “Uninhibiting spell?”

Sam takes a seat at the table and gestures to the one across from him. Castiel sits, his hands clasped on the table in front of him. “So, last night when I asked Dean how he was feeling and he said how great he felt — remember what else he said?” 

Castiel nods. “He said he was…” He pauses, feeling the blood rushing to his face again and amazed how the rest of his body continues to function with the continued lack of blood flow. “He said he was ‘still totally hung up’ on me.” His hands writhe together on the table in his embarrassment… but oddly, he feels a sense of lightness, a fluttering in his stomach as if a swarm of butterflies had taken up residence there.

Sam snaps his fingers and points. “Exactly!” 

Castiel sits back in his chair and glowers. “I’m not sure what you’re trying to say, Sam.” 

“C’mon, Cas… think about it. When does Dean _ever_ say he’s _fine?_ Or admit his feelings for _anyone,_ even me?” 

Castiel begins to see where Sam is coming from, but still… “I see your point. But Sam…” He stops, eyes dropping and the fluttering in his stomach souring. “Dean does not care for me in that way.” The words are like ash in his mouth, the memories from last night and this morning like white-hot blades to his heart. 

Sam snorts. “That is one hundred percent _not true._ ”

Castiel’s head jerks up to shoot a glare in Sam’s direction, puzzled at his recent behavior. Sam is fully aware of his affections for Dean, and it is not like him to be callous or cruel, making light of other’s feelings, and yet… The look on Sam’s face gives him pause; his face is open and honest, and even… exasperated?

_Could it be true? Is it possible Dean actually returns my feelings?_

Just then, the stormcloud that is Dean rounds the corner of the hallway coming from the kitchen. “What’s not true?” he demands, setting his coffee cup roughly on the table before yanking out a chair and falling irritably onto it.

“That you’re not crazy in love with Cas.” 

An involuntary squeak leaps from Castiel’s mouth as his head snaps towards Sam, eyes wide in panic at his bluntness. He cringes when Dean loudly scoffs.

“Well, that’s absolutely not true.” He turns toward Castiel and then visibly deflates, all earlier ire dissolving like salt in water. “Although I can see why you think I don’t love you after how I’ve been acting.” He turns in his chair and reaches over to take Castiel’s hands. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he says softly, raising Castiel’s hands to press a kiss into each one, then glances up through his lashes, that wicked grin returning and Castiel braces. “But please, the next time you don’t wanna have sex, don’t use my brother as an excuse.” 

Sam, who had tipped back in his chair to watch the exchange, flails as he loses his balance and almost falls over backwards before recovering with a gasp, followed by a bellow of laughter — but Castiel barely notices, having completely forgotten the necessity of breathing. 

“Oh my God, Dean,” Sam wheezes in between guffaws, “We absolutely have to get this curse off you.” 

Dean’s eyes snap away from Castiel to Sam. “Curse? _What_ curse?”

“The curse the witch placed on you, of course.” Sam sobers, shoving the notepad across the table, Dean snatching it up and reading as Sam continues. “You were zapped by a curse that removes your inhibitions…” He smirks. “Especially, it seems, the ones related to that river in Egypt you’re so fond of.” 

Castiel turns a puzzled glance at Sam. “What does the Nile River have to do with this situation?” He sighs in exasperation as both brothers burst into laughter. “I don’t understand that reference.” 

“I’ll explain it to you later, Cas,” Dean says, then sobering, turns his attention back to Sam. “So you’re saying this… curse… is _making_ me love Cas?” 

Sam shakes his head. “Nope. It’s just… _finally…_ getting you to openly admit it and act on it.” 

“Huh.” Dean sits back in his chair, his expression thoughtful, then turning resolute. “Then I say we leave it be.” He turns to Castiel, taking his hands again. “I don’t want to go back to being afraid…” He swallows, and continues, “Or being _in denial_ of loving you, Cas.” 

That metaphorical light bulb goes off in Castiel’s head. “De… Nile.” 

Sam snorts and Dean rolls his eyes.

Then the lightbulb grows brighter. “You mean…” He can’t bring himself to actually say the words, the fear of being rejected — mistaken — too much for him to bear.

But Dean must know what he was about to ask, sliding from his chair to kneel before him, his eyes earnest and filled with honesty. “Yes, Cas. I love you. One hundred percent. One _thousand_ percent.” Dean turns to glare at Sam over the top of the table. “And I don’t want to lose this. Ever.”

“You don’t have to, Dean.” Sam leans forward across the table. “You can _choose_ to be honest with your feelings even after we remove the curse.” 

Dean rises, pulling Castiel up with him and into a spine-popping hug. “I don’t want to lose this,” he whispers into Castiel’s ear. Then suddenly, and much to Castiel’s surprise, Dean pushes him back, hands clasping his shoulders. “Waitaminute.” His green eyes go wide, hope and disbelief at war in them. “D-do you… do you love me too?”

“Yes, of course. Hasn’t it been obvious?” Castiel’s eyes narrow in confusion. Is it possible Dean hasn’t been aware of his feelings? How absurd. 

Dean sighs, pulling Castiel back into a hug, to his delight. “I guess I was blind as well as stupid.” 

Castiel returns Dean’s hug, relishing the ability to finally do so without reservation. “Not stupid, Dean. Just stubborn.” 

Dean pulls away enough to press a light kiss to Castiel’s lips, breaking it to press his forehead to Castiel’s. “Yeah, that sounds like me.” 

Loud throat-clearing echoes in the room, and they snap out of their reverie, turning to Sam. “So, what do we do?” he asks.

Castiel turns back to Dean. “It’s up to you, of course,” he says, staring into those amazing green eyes so full of love, but becomes aware of a gnawing fear growing in his stomach. 

If they reverse the spell, it’s entirely possible Dean will snap right back into his usual _modus operandi_ — stubborn denial of his right to happiness, to love and to be loved in return. 

But on the other hand, while Castiel wants Dean’s love more than anything else in this world, he wants it _honestly_ — not coerced or forced. 

“It’s up to you,” he repeats, “but I hope you choose to reverse the spell.” 

Dean nods, eyes downcast. “I don’t wanna be a puppet. I want…” He pauses and takes a deep breath, the eyes meeting Castiel’s full of determination. “I will do this — _feel this_ — honestly.” Another quick kiss and he turns back to Sam. 

“Let’s do this.”

* * *

Castiel paces the hallway outside the infirmary. 

He walks to one end, pauses, walks back. As he passes the door, he pauses briefly and listens; but only for a second, the fear taking hold and pushing him to move again, to the other end of the hallway. Turn, repeat.

Each time he pauses at the door, the fear that he’ll lose Dean forever grows, burning in him like hot ash. 

He had helped Sam gather the ingredients for the spell but could not bring himself to participate — asking Sam to question Dean after the spell was over and come to him personally to break the news to him gently rather than be there to witness it for himself.

It was cowardice, pure and simple. He admonishes himself for it — he should be there for Dean, come what may. But there are just some things he cannot bear, and having Dean reject him outright without a buffer is the greatest of them. 

He almost has a heart attack when he hears the door to the infirmary open behind him. He pauses in his march, the fear choking him, rooting his feet to the floor.

“Cas?” 

Dean’s voice, soft and almost timid, is the thing that finally loosens his feet; slowly, hesitantly he turns, his eyes rising slowly to see Dean at the doorway. 

He swallows past the lump of fear in his throat. “Hello, Dean.” He takes a deep breath and straightens his shoulders, steeling himself for the inevitable. “How are you feeling?”

Dean walks toward him, steps echoing in the hallway. Castiel freezes as Dean stops in front of him; waits and tries to push down the anxiety as Dean stands silent before him.

“I feel…” Dean starts, then hesitates. He takes a deep breath, starts again. “I feel… good.” He smiles, shy but with a hint of the determination from before. Castiel’s breath catches as Dean reaches to take his hands.

“Please, Cas… have patience with me,” Dean sighs softly, staring down at their joined hands. “I remember everything… everything I felt from, y’know, before…” He pauses again, the struggle to overcome his barriers evident and Castiel has never been more proud of him. “It’s still there, but… I have work to do.” Dean looks up to stare into his eyes and it’s all Castiel can do to keep from collapsing from relief and joy — Dean may be struggling to express his feelings, but his eyes are full of all the love he’s currently unable to say.

But Castiel has no problems with expressing himself. 

“I love you, Dean. I will wait for eternity for you to be ready, if that’s what it takes.”

Dean sighs in relief and leans forward to touch his forehead to Castiel’s. “It won’t take that long, I promise.” 

* * *

EPILOGUE:

Rowena’s eyes flutter, the cloudy grey dispersing and returning to their usual hazel green. She breathes a satisfied sigh.

“Was the spell successful, my Queen? Did I do well?” She glances down at the slight young man kneeling before the throne, the black eyes somehow conveying hope of receiving her praise… or perhaps it’s fear of being the recipient of her displeasure. Eh, either is good.

“We’ll see,” she says, her voice lilting in exaggerated nonchalance, but she takes pity on the young demon. “But it looks promising.” She waves her hand in dismissal and the demon scurries away happily — or as happily as a soul condemned to Hell can be, she supposes.

She steeples her fingers, tapping the tips to each other in contentment. Promising, indeed.

The stools in the throne room catch her eye and she can almost see them sitting there, tense and rigid in each other’s presence. “FIX IT!” she had admonished them then, and it seemed like maybe they might have on their own — but she has always been impatient, and knows all too well the price one pays when they’ve waited until it’s too late. 

She had been watching, and waiting, and growing more impatient with them but unable to act — even the Queen of Hell has her limits — until she encountered the young demon, a former witch fresh from the rack, and an idea blossomed. 

Taking the young demon as her personal servant, she had instructed him in the spell that would loosen Dean’s inhibitions, cultivating him until she was sure of success, then laying a trail for the boys to follow. The spell went off without a hitch — well, except for the little idiot almost being caught by a surprisingly powerful Castiel. Who knew seeing the love of his life unconscious on the floor would elicit such a powerful response? She smiles slyly to herself, thinking of other fun ways she might prod that response from the angel in the future. Could come in handy.

A surge of pride overcomes her — she had been counting on Samuel, her all-too-short protégé, to pick up on the nature of the spell and find a counterspell for it, and she was so very proud of him — followed by a momentary stab of sadness. Oh, the things she could have taught him if it wasn’t for that pesky little tyrant Chuck! 

A wicked, leering grin curls her lips. Of course, there was more to her plan than simply helping a hunter and an angel — both of whom at one time actively pursued her demise — find love and happiness. Fostering that love and devotion was the ultimate weapon for her revenge against Chuck. For she knew at some point in the near future, there would be a confrontation between him and the Winchesters — one didn’t need prescience to see it, it was clear as a bell to anyone with eyes — and an angel with an attachment to the elder Winchester even more profound than the original bond between them on their side would certainly seal Chuck’s doom.

Ahhh, but it is GOOD to be the Queen!


End file.
